


You call it love, love when it tastes like this

by ellsaba (vanillawg)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (but theyre stupid and in love), After care, Blood Play, Bottom!Stiles, D/s undertones, Demon!Stiles, Hate Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Top!Derek, breath play, feelings if you squint, losers in love, oblivious boys, sub space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 21:17:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9922490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillawg/pseuds/ellsaba
Summary: They’re not friends. The word tastes like ash in Stiles’ mouth.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i don't want to do my psychology work so i did this instead  
> title taken from the song bittersweet by brunettes shoot blondes.  
> also my first time writing smut so??? like let me know how it is  
> also i had to edit this the same fucking day because i'm stupid and apparently don't know the difference between pulling and pooling  
> more details re: tags in the end notes :)  
> edit: 19/03/17, because apparently i don't know the difference between whole and hole, either

Stiles and Derek aren’t _friends._ They’re barely allies – it only _happens_ to be that the destruction of Beacon Hills and everyone dying is a mutual inconvenience. So.

So they work together. Because it’s the _logical_ thing to do, and they’re both smart enough to realize that, even if it is a kick to the pride.

This thing they do – the bickering, the snide comments, that’s not fucking flirting (no matter what Lydia says. What does she know, anyway – she’s boning a fucking lizard). There’s that underlying sharp edge to every word, every insult and jibe, that’s very much _not flirting._

They’re not friends. The word tastes like ash in Stiles’ mouth.

This – other thing, they do. That’s not friendship. That’s not flirting.

It’s not fucking _nice._ They’re not _nice._ They can’t stand each other. It’s just… telling each other how much they hate each other, just not in so many words.

“C’mon, Derek, that’s all you’ve got?”

So, maybe there are a few words. But they never… talk about it.

Derek twists his fingers, and grabs Stiles by the throat, slamming his head against the wall, and Stiles gasps into Derek’s mouth. Fuck, he thinks.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and that just makes him angrier. That Derek got a reaction out of Stiles. That Derek reacted, so easily. It makes him so – fuck, it pisses him off.

Stiles wraps a hand in Derek’s hair, pulls hard, and Derek growls into Stiles’ mouth, bites at his lip with teeth a little too sharp. He can taste the blood. Bastard.

Derek’s got two fingers in his ass, and has barely shoved in a third before he’s pulling them out. It’s not enough, he _knows_ it’s not enough, but Derek also knows that Stiles likes when it’s not enough, and that infuriates him. The idea that he’s so predictable. That they’ve done this enough that Derek just _knows,_ and goes out of his way to make it good for him.

(Stiles knows that Derek likes it like this, too; too rough and a little cruel, but he’s also seen Derek’s face afterwards, when they’re a little softer with each other.

He hates that look, he _does._ )

Stiles tries to kiss Derek properly, tries to shove his tongue into his mouth, but Derek moves his hand from his throat to his hair, pulls it back and slams his head into the wall again. It shocks a gasp out of him that he chokes into a laugh, and when Derek stares at his mouth Stiles knows what he’s looking at, can only imagine the blood on his teeth, bubbling around his gums. Derek remembers a lot about whatever this is, but he always forgets that Stiles doesn’t heal like he does. Stiles can do a _lot –_ flashes his eyes black for a moment to prove it – but healing? Was something he missed out on.

(He thinks, maybe, that Derek likes it like this. Likes seeing Stiles bleeding, likes to bleed himself. Maybe it’s fucked up, but it’s them.)

Derek tightens his grip on Stiles’ hair, and shoves his other hand in his mouth. Stiles grins around Derek’s fingers, wraps his tongue around them, presses against the webbing between them, and watches Derek’s face twitching. His hands were always sensitive. Stiles likes that.

Stiles pulls one of his hands from Derek’s hair and presses it against the base of his throat, his little finger pressing down on Derek’s collar bone and the others pressing gently against the sides of his throat. He wants to see how far Derek will let him go. How mean he can make Derek.

And the way his face twists, contorts into something nastier as he wrenches his hand from Stiles’ mouth and slicks up his cock, is just what Stiles expects. He wants something _new._

But the look on Derek’s face, the way his eyes flicker shut for a moment, opening half lidded and pupils blown up, when he eases his way into Stiles will never _not_ turn Stiles on. And – fuck, Derek just fills him up _so well,_ and it’s a little too much but he fucking loves it, loves the dull throb of it.

Derek stills when he’s inside, which is – new, Stiles supposes, and he’s grateful because his ribs are still sore, his skin still raw from earlier (and fuck, but he hates witches), but that’s not what they are. They’re not – this is _kind,_ this is nice, and they aren’t fucking nice.

So Stiles growls a little, shows his teeth a little, tries to fuck down on him, and Derek must read something into his face because his hand is back on Stiles’ throat, pressing in harder than usual, and he has Stiles gasping and scrabbling at his hand. He leans in close, and Stiles hates that he can feel his heart skipping a beat when those fangs brush against his throat, tracing the tendons before biting down around his ear – not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to bruise. “Stop,” he hisses, relaxing his hold on Stiles’ neck, and Stiles’ eyes flash black but he can hear the alpha in Derek’s voice, and he stills despite himself. Bites down on the muscle between Derek’s neck and shoulder, because he’s not going to let Derek think he has power over Stiles.

He’d die first.

Derek’s still not moving, and Stiles’ muscles slowly relax around him. Derek doesn’t offer to take his pain, and Stiles doesn’t ask. When Derek’s seemingly satisfied, he pulls out and pushes back in, slowly, and Stiles groans embarrassingly loud at the pull, slightly dry. He starts licking and biting and sucking at the base of Derek’s neck, but Derek’s hand moves from his neck to his hair, and again slams his head against the wall, hard enough that his ears ring from it for a second. “Don’t,” Derek growls. “I want to hear you.”

And he does – Derek starts thrusting in earnest then, slamming in hard and fast and deep, cock scraping against his prostate every few thrusts, but it’s not enough. Stiles is hard and leaking, cock red and dark, and he’s suddenly startlingly aware of his naked body against Derek’s, still clothed. How does he let Derek get the upper hand like this, every time?

Stiles’ hands twist in Derek’s hair, and he can’t stop the mewls every time Derek pushes in, and it hurts but it hurts so good. Fuck, Derek’s ruined him for anyone else.

“Come on,” he hisses, face pulled down in a snarl. “That all you got?”

Derek’s eyes glow red, and he bares his teeth at Stiles. He pushes in, angling to hit Stiles’ prostate – hard – and then, abruptly, pulls out, dropping Stiles to the floor. His knees almost give out, but Stiles grasps at the wall blindly.

“What the fuck?” He says, and –

And Derek’s grabbing at his neck – again – and all but throwing him to the floor.

“Oh,” he says, dumbly, and his ribs ache.

Derek crawls over him, looking every bit the predator he is – slow, calculating. His eyes are still red, teeth still sharp, and Derek thrills Stiles like this. Likes when he loses a bit of his control, likes when the _alpha_ comes out.

He leans down, and scrapes his teeth against Stiles’ ear again. Presses his tongue against it, and when he pulls away, blows on it. Stiles shivers.

“Are you going to be good for me?” Derek whispers, and Stiles grins.

“Of course not,” he says, because he’s a little shit and likes to push a little too much.

Derek growls, low and dangerously. His fingers dig into Stiles’ throat, cutting off the blood and the air and Stiles feels, a little, like he’s floating, detached. Like the whole world falls away, for a moment, and it’s just him and Derek, just the single point of contact at his throat holding him together.

“Let me ask that again,” Derek’s voice is low and controlled, and Stiles forgets to be annoyed by how put together he is. Stiles is the one falling apart, and it’s not what he wanted, but… he’s not _displeased_ by it. “Are. You. Going. To be. Good?” He punctuates each word with a light flick against Stiles’ cock, and it doesn’t hurt but it’s teetering on that edge. Stiles gasps, and he only feels real where Derek is touching him.

He nods, a little too desperately, and he knows he’s probably showing weakness and Derek’s cruel laugh confirms it, but fuck, when Derek is the only solid thing in the room, Stiles can’t find it in him to care.

Derek’s smile is slow, dangerous, and he looks blood thirsty. He bites down on Stiles’ neck, just below his ear, and he can’t tell if Derek pulls blood or not – it just feels tingly, and the pain emanates through his whole body. His cock twitches.

Derek pulls away, leaving Stiles cold and whining, but his hand presses against Stiles’ shoulder almost just as quick, burning and firm, anchoring him. He flips Stiles onto his front like he’s nothing, and Stiles bangs his chin.

“Fuck,” he says, coming back to himself, but then Derek is pressed against the whole of Stiles’ body, hot even through the clothes that scrape against Stiles’ skin.

“Good boy,” Derek whispers. Pushes back in, but doesn’t move his hips any more. He grabs both of Stiles’ wrists in one hand, and presses them to the ground above Stiles’ head. “Are you going to stay still for me?” He asks, and his claws dig into Stiles’ skin, sharp and piercing, but the pain just feels fucking perfect, even when Stiles sees blood dripping. The smell of it is metallic, a little tangy, and Stiles _loves it._

(Maybe it’s fucked up, but it’s them. It’s them.)

“Y-” Stiles starts, and he does just wants to be good for Derek, just wants to be good – and that scares Stiles a little, because he’s a fucking _demon,_ and he hates Derek, he’s not good –

But it doesn’t matter, because Derek pulls out again, head barely inside, and his other hand is burning a hole into Stiles’ hip. It doesn’t matter, because Derek pulls Stiles onto him, and pushes him away when he pulls out, and back on when he thrusts in –

It doesn’t matter, because Derek’s fucking into him hard, and he knows he’ll have bruises all over, and he knows the blood is pooling on the floor and it’s a little sticky against his skin.

Derek changes the angle, and he’s hitting Stiles’ prostate, hard, on every thrust in, dragging against it when he pulls out, and Stiles is moaning and writhing beneath him –

It doesn’t matter. Because maybe they’re not friends, but in low light they might look like they get along. Because Stiles will spill blood for Derek – whether it’s a hunter, or another were, or a fucking witch, or whether it’s his own, because –

Well, that doesn’t matter, either. It doesn’t matter why.

There’s heat pooling in Stiles’ belly, in the base of his spine, and his toes curl. He wants to scrabble for purchase, but Derek’s grip on his wrists is hard and his grip on his hip is unmoving. He’s just a plaything for Derek to use, and Stiles can’t even form words any more to let Derek know exactly what the fuck this is. He feels like he’s choking on his own damn tongue.

“God,” Derek groans, and presses his forehead against Stiles’ nape, hard enough to force Stiles down just a little more, make him gasp for breath just a little more. “Fucking made for me, Stiles, so good. Made to take this, to take me – I’m going to fucking _ruin you-_ ”

And that’s it, all it takes to make Stiles spill against the floor, splashing against his chin, with a scream. His orgasm pulses through him, hard and unwavering, and Derek fucks him through the aftershocks, until he’s too sensitive. Stiles clenches down, unthinking. It’s too much. He can’t take it. He whines, tries to pull away, but Derek’s teeth are suddenly against his neck, a dare to move, and it’s so fucking hot that Stiles clenches even harder. And that’s it, and Derek’s spilling into Stiles, teeth finally breaking the skin, and he bites down hard, throwing Stiles into another wave of shocks, running through his blood like electricity.

They lay there, Derek’s claws no longer digging into Stiles’ wrists but human again, wrapped around Stiles and pulling him close, and he’s thankfully pulled out but Stiles’ ass twinges a little. There’s sweat pooling in the small of his back and on his forehead, and he’s gross and sticky and his wrists fucking hurt.

“Fuck,” Stiles breathes, when he can form words again.

“You alright?” Derek asks, a little too gently, but Stiles doesn’t think too hard about it because Derek always asks.

He just nods, and closes his eyes.

 

* * *

 

When he opens them again, he’s lying on his back in Derek’s bed – which is way softer than Stiles would have thought, and it surprises him a little. They never made it to the bed – with a warm, damp flannel wiping him down. There’s a glass of water on the bedside table.

Derek doesn’t smile at him when he sees he’s awake, but there’s no sign of the harsh lines in his face from before. “How are you feeling?”

Stiles groans, and throws a – clean – arm across his eyes. “Like I just got fucked by a werewolf,” he says. “You?”

Derek doesn’t answer, but throws the flannel somewhere. He runs his hands up and down Stiles’ sides, pressing in a little, and Stiles sighs. It feels – nice. It’s sweet. “You were so good,” he says, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Shut the fuck up,” Stiles says, but wraps his fingers around Derek’s wrist, presses in for a light, quick kiss – and, oh, they haven’t kissed yet, have they? – pulls him up and shifts so they’re lying on their sides, Derek pressed against his back, knees tucked into the back of Stiles’.

He pretends not to feel Derek’s smile against the back of his neck.

This is new, he thinks, and he wanted something new. He… likes it. Maybe they’ll cuddle more often. Maybe he’ll stay over next time, too.

He pretends not to smile. Closes his eyes and tunes out everything but the beating of Derek’s heart, slow and steady, against his back.

**Author's Note:**

> Derek bites Stiles (in like.... a sexy way? and we're going to just say you can't turn a demon) and digs his claws into his wrists when he hold him down. Also, chokes him a little, but again. In a sexy way.
> 
> My [ tumblr](http://vanillawg.tumblr.com/)


End file.
